First Class: Arrival
by TaliesinTaleweaver
Summary: The first in a series set during the early days of the X-Men, the story follows Jean on her first day back at the mansion since it has been turned into a school.


Jean set her last suitcase on the floor of the foyer and looked around. It felt good to be back. Not that there was anything wrong with Annandale-on-Hudson, not in the least. Well, it would be nice to be living in place with a population larger than three thousand people again.

"I hope your trip was enjoyable," Professor Xavier was saying.

Jean shrugged. "Traffic was awful. Did you know that some vampire-phobic idiot drove a stake through Slobodan Milosevic's heart after he died?" She grinned. "People think the weirdest things when they're stuck in traffic, they really do. Who's Slobodan Milosevic anyway?"

Professor Xavier shook his head. "Jean—"

"You try being in the middle of sea of frustrated, loudly-thinking people for three hours and not absorb any of their thoughts. So where is everybody?"

"In the rec room. Why do you not leave your things here and come meet them?"

On the other hand, it would be strange to live here with other people. She was used to the stately halls echoing only her own footsteps.

In the rec room, four boys were arrayed in various positions in the room. Three of them looked up when Jean came in.

The youngest of them was about thirteen, face liberally sprinkled with freckles, brown eyes twinkling mischievously from under a flop of sandy hair. He twitched constantly with restless energy, shifting from one foot to the other. It was impossible not to take an instant liking to him.

"Hiya," he said, grinning. "I'm Bobby."

"It's nice to meet you," Jean replied.

Another boy, the bulkiest of all of them, though with muscles not fat, stuck his massive hands in his pockets. "I'm Hank McCoy," he said.

A boy with golden hair was leaning against the wall casually. He had an aura of confidence about him. Pure white wings stretched out behind him, incongruous with his white button-up shirt and dark jeans.

"I'm Warren Worthington III," he said. Jean held out her hand. Instead of shaking it, Warren lifted it to his lips and kissed it, as if they were living two hundred years ago. "Charmed," he said. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Grey."

The last boy was sitting on the couch, absorbed in the book sitting in his lap. He didn't even appear to have registered her presence. He was wearing red shades that completely obscured his eyes and a sweatshirt that didn't quite match the color of his shirt.

"Slim," Professor Xavier prompted. Knowing him as she did, Jean knew he had also spoken telepathically.

The boy looked up, glancing around. "Oh," he said quietly. He put a bookmark in his book, lined up neatly with the binding, and stood stiffly. "Hello."

Professor Xavier nodded at him. "That's Slim Summers, Jean."

Jean smiled at Slim, who nodded in return. He walked into the foyer. "Need help?" He nodded at the suitcases.

Jean started to protested that she could do it herself, but caught a thought from the Professor to let it be.

"Where's my room?" she asked instead.

"The same you had before."

Slim picked up two suitcases, leaving a backpack and satchel for Jean to manage.

As they walked up the stairs, Jean tried to engage him in conversation.

"How long have you been here?"

"Three years."

Interesting. He must have come just after she had left. "What's your mutant power?"

"My eyes." Jean waited for an elaboration. By the time she realized it wasn't going to come, they had reached the door and she opened it telekinetically.

The room was decorated precisely how she had left it more than three years ago. The same rose-patterned satin spread was on the bed with the ornate metal headboard, with the tule draped from the ceiling to suggest a canopy. About fifteen white and pink bears and dolls were on the bed amidst the many pillows. The walls were painted a pale pink that went nicely with the white trim and furnishings. A row of crudely painted clay animals stood lined up on top of the dresser. Jean had made them all one boring afternoon years ago when it had been too cold and wet to do anything else. A pink-trimmed bulletin board covered with photos, sketches, and postcards was next to the mirror.

Slim glanced around, apparently not having seen the room before. The expression on his face was hard to understand, given that his eyes were invisible. It might have been curiosity, or merely condescension.

Jean pointed at a spot in front of the closet. "Could you set those bags there, please?"

Slim set the suitcases down, then turned to leave.

"Thanks," Jean called after him. Slim shook his head dismissively.

Jean debated for several seconds whether to unpack then or wait until later. The decision was made for her when Bobby came running up just after Slim turned out of sight.

He stood at the doorway for a moment, nose wrinkled. "I've never in my life seen so much pink." He came in, uninvited, and sat on the floor.

Jean laughed. "I'm guessing you don't have any sisters."

Bobby shook his head. "Nope. Just me."

"But you're right. It is a bit juvenile. I guess I'll have to redecorate eventually."

Bobby shrugged. "It's your room. The Prof said you move stuff with your mind. That's so cool. Can you show me?"

The door slammed. Bobby jumped.

Jean winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean to close it so hard." She walked over to it and tugged on the knob. Then harder, when her initial effort didn't do anything.

Bobby grinned. "I froze it shut. That's what I do." He held up one hand and a coating of ice spread over it. "Cool much?"

"At least summers will never be problem."

"I hate summer; it's too hot."

Jean gave the door another yank and it opened, ice crystals falling to the floor.

"Bobbbbyyyyy!" Someone, it sounded like Warren, yelled from across the mansion.

Bobby's eyes widened and he jumped up. "Gotta run!" He sped out the door and down the hall.

Jean smiled to herself and unzipped a suitcase.

The dinner bell rang just as she finished unpacking. That was a familiar sound. Not that Jean had heard it more than half the time. She had always been running around the expansive grounds, playing in the trees.

By the time Jean got to the dining room, the other students were already seated. Professor Xavier had said he had business in the city and would absent that evening so Jean wasn't surprised that his spot was vacant.

Hannah, the housekeeper, set a steaming dish on the table and went back into the kitchen, her natural territory, which she ruled like a tiger prowling its mountain. Depending on what mood she was in, she either allowed you to 'cook' in the kitchen or set about flaying you with a dish towel the minute you poked a nose within her sacred territory.

Jean slipped into the empty seat. Bobby and Warren had been arguing heatedly about something, with Hank pitching in every few minutes, but stopped abruptly when they caught sight of her. Slim was reading the same book he had been earlier, eyes glued to the page as he ladled food onto his plate without looking. Jean wondered how he could concentrate with all the background noise.

"Settle in okay?" Hank asked.

"Sure, yeah, thanks for asking."

Jean took a piece of chicken and spoonful of boiled potatoes. "So I know Bobby's power, I'm pretty sure I can guess Warren's, so what's yours, Hank?"

Hank shrugged. "I have extremities comparable to those of a silverback, and extreme agility and strength."

"In other words," Bobby piped up, "he's like a gorilla, only smarter. He just doesn't want to admit it."

Hank glared at him. "That's what I _said_, Bobby."

Bobby shrugged, unperturbed, as he idly iced his potatoes, thawed them by sliding them under this chicken, then icing them again until his food was swimming in lake of melted ice.

"That's disgusting," Warren said.

"So are you when you scream like a girl."

"I do not!"

"I got it on tape," Bobby announced triumphantly. He took an audio tape from his pocket and waved it around. "For blackmail purposes."

Warren shot across the table, trying to grab the tape from the younger boy. Bobby leapt backwards so quickly he overturned his chair. Warren's hand crashed into the bowl of potatoes. Bobby chuckled and grabbed Warren's collar, pulling him bodily over the table, dragging him through the plates and knocking over glasses. Warren landed on top of Bobby, fists flying as Bobby tried to squirm away.

Slim moved too quickly for Jean to completely register that he had at all. He wrestled Warren into a headlock and pinned Bobby against the floor.

"Both of you sit down and shut up and don't move until I give you permission to," he said, not sounding the least bit out of breath. It was the longest sentence Jean had heard him say.

"Fine, fine," Warren muttered. "Let me up already."

Slim let them go and slid back into his chair, picking up his book and fork. Then he looked up at Jean across the table and grinned.

Jean couldn't help smiling back. "Is it always like this?"

"No. Usually it's worse."

Jean pushed her window open and scrambled out, digging her fingers in between the bricks to pull herself up. She didn't use her telekinesis because she rather enjoyed the challenge, though the difficulty level had admittedly lessened over the years.

She reached the edge of the roof and pulled herself onto it. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, staring up at the stars.

She loved looking at the stars. There were so many of them, billions, so beautiful, dotting the night sky. No matter what had happened during the day, the stars were still there, as stately and joyful as ever.

She found the Big Dipper, Polaris, Orion's Belt. She remembered the stories she'd made about them when she was little. Polaris was escape Ursa Major, who wanted a midnight snack—she remembered her twelve-year-old elation at the joke-but had been frozen in the ice the whole epic danced upon. Big Dipper was a celestial gardener that watered the other stars during day, which was why they weren't visible then, but at night he would rest from his labors and bring them all out to admire them.

She sensed someone else, drawing near. She turned as the door to roof from the attic opened and Slim stepped out. He didn't seem to see her at first, probably because his eyes weren't adjusted to the darkness yet.

"Hey," Jean said. Slim looked startled. "How did you get up here?"

"I climbed."

"I'll just, uh, well, bye." Slim turned back toward the door.

"Wait, you don't have to go. Did you come to look at the stars?"

Slim stopped moving. "No," he said quietly, his back still toward Jean. "No, I don't come up here to see the stars."

"Why don't you sit down?"

Slim walked over to her and sat, his arms folded across his chest. Jean didn't think the gesture was meant a rebellious or angry way, she felt more like he was creating a wall in front of himself.

"What did you come up here for?"

Slim was silent for such a long time that Jean thought he was ignoring the question. Finally, he spoke, saying each word slowly, as if he were picking it individually with great care. "It's quiet here, solitary. And free."

Jean nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It feels like there's nothing to tie you down, no bars to cage in. Like if you jumped off, you would fly and go soaring among the stars."

Slim was looking at her strangely. Jean gave an embarrassed laugh, heat rising to her cheeks. "It's corny, I know. I'm not usually this weird though."

"No, it's—I agree with you."

There was silence for a moment. Jean didn't have a problem with it. She glanced over at Slim, who seemed deep in his own thoughts.

"Do you come up here often?"

Slim shrugged. "I guess."

"Once when I was twelve, Hannah caught me up here and nearly had a heart attack. She said she was going to tan my hide if she ever caught me on the roof again."

"I've never been caught," Slim said, almost smugly.

"Good for you. Where are you from?"

"I moved around a lot," Slim said with what Jean thought was careful casualness. So he didn't want to talk about himself. Jean wondered what was in his past that he was so leery of. He was an enigma: so withdrawn, yet polite, silent. Until at the table when he had taken out Bobby and Warren. That, she could understand; she herself had been about thirty seconds to doing something drastic to them as well. But then Slim had _grinned_ at her. That, Jean didn't get. Oh well, they were living at the same school, she'd have plenty of time to analyze his idiosyncrasies.

Slim stood up. "I'm going to bed. Hope you enjoy the school."

Yes, Jean thought she would enjoy it very much.


End file.
